


Drowning

by ShitabuKenjirou



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Negative Thoughts, all that jazz, but still i'm more posting this for archiving purposes than anything else, depressing shit, do yourself a favour and don't read this, it ends on a positive note though, it's just me projecting things on characters and writing feelings out of my system, it's not even really yahashira but since it's kinda there i had to tag it, will probably delete this later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-06 02:16:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12201867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShitabuKenjirou/pseuds/ShitabuKenjirou
Summary: He barely noticed anything of the scenery as he walked, eyes on the concrete below, ears open only to the music that was blasting out of his headphones loud enough for other passersby to notice. Not that he cared.Shirabu didn’t care at all.Except he did.How did you drown out something that was drowning you?





	Drowning

**Author's Note:**

> Don't expect anything special from this drabble- it was just a way of getting life struggles out of the way. Not that it really helped.
> 
> Honestly the only reason I'm posting this is because I'm low-key proud of the writing. Not because I feel like it's good in any way.
> 
> But if you want to read it anyway: thanks, that means a lot <3

Sometimes, the only option left was to walk away. 

With brisk steps, Shirabu made his way through the streets, many of which starting to become unknown to him. He weaved himself through the masses of people, navigated himself through the traffic seemingly effortlessly, as if he was being pulled to whatever place would give him peace of mind. 

He barely noticed anything of the scenery as he walked, eyes on the concrete below, ears open only to the music that was blasting out of his headphones loud enough for other passersby to notice. Not that he cared.

Shirabu didn’t care at all.

Except he did.

_How did you drown out something that was drowning you?_

Shirabu shivered in his hoodie. It was stupid of him to just have left his home without a coat in the crisp autumn weather. But at that moment, a coat had been the least important thing on his mind.

There had been too many things on his mind. And he was tired of drowning in them. So he tried to leave them in the dust, tried to get a head start as he had slammed closed the front door and run until his lungs set his chest on fire.

It turned out, thoughts were quick at catching up. 

So he tried the next option, which was just to keep running until every single trail of smoke had left his mind.

Raindrops turned the concrete dark, and Shirabu felt them slowly seep through his hoodie. The autumn cold slithered underneath his clothes and started chilling him to the bone. Normally, Shirabu would’ve cared. 

Now, any kind of distraction was welcome. He’d rather be swallowed by the cold than by his own mind.

Even though the rain soaked his shoes, even though he was getting himself lost in the dark parts of town he’d never dared touch before, even though the sun was nearly finished setting, even though he had things to take care of, Shirabu never stopped walking.

Somehow he found his way to a large tree in the middle of some park, and he gladly sat down underneath it, the thick blanket of leaves sheltering him from the rain. 

Shirabu didn’t dare touch his phone. Not even to skip the songs he didn’t like. Not when he knew Yahaba had texted and called him more times than he could count. Not when he knew people who should just leave him to turn into dust worried about him.

_Leave me alone._

Shirabu rubbed his arms forcefully, trying to work some of the paralyzing cold out of his skin.

_Help me._

_No._

_I need to fix things myself._

“Shut up,” Shirabu muttered aloud, as if his voice would help drive the storm out of his head.

The long sleepless nights he’d had before suddenly took their toll on him, all at once, and Shirabu closed his eyes. He focused on the music from his headphones, listened to all the instruments and sounds separately before putting the pieces together in his mind one by one.

The next thing he heard was a voice all too familiar.

“Kenjirou!”

Shirabu’s eyes flew open, and the first thing he noticed was that everything around him was black, save from a few street lanterns scattered around the park.

The second thing he noticed was that his headphones were devoid of music, and that the device had slipped from his ears and dangled from his neck instead. 

The third thing he noticed was Yahaba running towards him, nearly tripping over his own feet to get to him. 

_Leave me alone._

Shirabu couldn’t find the will to sit up straight, so he stayed in his slumped position against the moist bark of the tree until Yahaba fell onto his knees beside him and pulled him into his arms.

Yahaba let out a string of curses under his breath, and Shirabu almost smiled. _I wonder where he got that from._

“Jesus christ, Kenjirou, please don’t disappear on me like that ever again,” Yahaba ordered him, squeezing Shirabu tightly against him. Shirabu allowed himself to revel in the warmth that surrounded Yahaba.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Yahaba continued, and the wobble Shirabu noticed in his voice made a lightning bolt explode in his chest.

_Yahaba is crying?_

_I made him cry?_

“My phone died,” Shirabu answered, in a voice more dead than he’d ever heard it.

“You know that’s not what I mean,” Yahaba whispered, and Shirabu shuddered involuntarily. 

“Shit, you’re frozen to the bone,” Yahaba cursed. He pulled back, brushing Shirabu’s bangs out of his face with one hand, holding Shirabu upright with the other. Only then did Shirabu notice that the skin of his face was sticky. _Rain? Or tears?_

“Come on, let’s get you home.”

Shirabu’s eyes went open wide, and his hands, which had somehow found their way to Yahaba’s back, squeezed the fabric of Yahaba’s coat.

_No._

It took only a few seconds for all the thoughts he’d tried to hard to get rid of to return to his mind, and everything buzzed with the intensity of a train station during rush hour. 

“No,” Shirabu said, out loud this time. His voice felt fragile and awkward in his throat, and he hated the feeling.

“You’re going to get sick if you stay out in the cold with soaked clothes,” Yahaba pointed out, pulling Shirabu into a sitting position.

“I’m already sick,” Shirabu said, and with that the floodgate opened. “I’m sick of everything. I’m sick of so many things happening at once, and I’m sick of not--”

The flood stopped abruptly.

_I’m sick of not being able to handle things like I should._

Shirabu didn’t dare meet Yahaba’s eyes.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Yahaba repeated, his voice so incredibly gentle it nearly broke Shirabu’s heart.

Shirabu stayed silent, even though everything in him wanted to speak.

_I couldn’t. I thought it wasn’t necessary. I thought I could get myself out of it before it really started to matter._

_I thought I could solve this alone._

_I’m sorry._

Shirabu bit back tears.

Before he could stop himself, he pulled Yahaba back to him by his coat, burying his face in Yahaba’s shoulder. Yahaba’s arms wrapped around him reflexively, his hands finding their place in Shirabu’s messy, damp hair. 

One by one, Shirabu let his defences down. All the tension, the poison he’d been holding in his body all this time, slowly but surely left his skin through his fingers, tightly gripping Yahaba’s coat, and through the tears embedding themselves in Yahaba’s shoulder. Like he had always done, like he’d taught himself to, he cried silently.

Yahaba kept stroking his hair as Shirabu borrowed some of Yahaba’s strength. He kept rubbing his back, and kept whispering reassuring words in Shirabu’s ear, comforting him the way only he could.

_Is it more selfish to keep yourself locked up in your mind, or to ask someone to liberate you with the key only they have?_

“Kenjirou,” Yahaba murmured softly. “We can’t stay here like this. We need to go home.”

Shirabu stubbornly tightened his grip on Yahaba, not allowing him to move an inch. 

Yahaba sighed, and pulled back again, disentangling Shirabu’s frozen fingers from his coat. Shirabu missed the warmth immediately. 

Yahaba stood up, brushed some dirt and leaf crumbs from his jeans before he zipped open his coat and shrugged out of it, wrapping it around Shirabu’s shoulders. Then he held out a hand, and Shirabu begrudgingly took it, letting Yahaba pull him to his feet.

Shirabu never lessened his grip on Yahaba’s coat as they made their way home, and Yahaba kept his arm around Shirabu’s waist at all times. 

The clock signified it was well over three in the morning when the two returned to their apartment. Shirabu changed into dry, warm clothes on autopilot as Yahaba prepared some tea in the kitchen. He crawled in bed as soon as he was done, suddenly craving warmth more than anything in his life. 

Yahaba joined him in their bed a few minutes later, and he let Shirabu lean against his chest as he sipped his tea, slowly tracing his fingers back and forth over Shirabu’s arms. The warmth of the tea seeped into Shirabu’s fingers, and spread slowly but surely to his limbs. It drove away the frost in his mind, and for the first time in a couple of days, Shirabu was able to breathe more easily.

When his cup was empty, Yahaba took it out of Shirabu’s hands and placed it on the night stand. Then he let himself slip underneath the covers, pulling Shirabu to his chest, tangling their legs and feet together, tenderly pressing a kiss to Shirabu’s temple.

“It’ll be okay,” Yahaba whispered. “I’m here, no matter what. I’m not going anywhere.”

Shirabu closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Yahaba said, pressing a kiss to his neck this time. “But you don’t have to fight alone.”

Shirabu twisted in Yahaba’s grip until he was facing him, and he laid his head on Yahaba’s chest, letting his steady heartbeat act like the music he’d listened to. 

“I’m so tired,” he said. _Tired of fighting. Tired of running away._

Yahaba’s fingers ran through Shirabu’s hair, and Shirabu tried to lose himself in the sensation of Yahaba’s nails gently scraping against his scalp. 

“Then sleep,” Yahaba told him. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

The last thing Shirabu heard before he drifted off was Yahaba’s soft voice, singing a song Shirabu had memorized every single tune of by now.

_“Let it slide,_  
_Let your troubles fall behind you_  
_Let it shine_  
_Until you feel it all around you_  
_And I don't mind_  
_If it's me you need to turn to_  
_We'll get by,_  
_It's the heart that really matters in the end.”_

**Author's Note:**

> In which Shirabu is 99% me. Also boy this was self-indulgent as heck, I'm so sorry. Never let me project my shit on my favourite characters ever again.
> 
> Feel free to hit me up on tumblr @shitabukenjirou to punch me in the face


End file.
